


7 Years

by Hesiod



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, bill is gone, fleurmione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 13:25:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11082498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hesiod/pseuds/Hesiod
Summary: After many years, Hermione sees Fleur in a crowd.





	7 Years

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow this happened while trying to write for Supercorp. 
> 
> I don't know why I'm in love with writing in second person for this ship. 
> 
> Enjoy!

You see Fleur among the crowd in Paris.

She stands out from the sea of people. She’s striking, like the focal point of a dull canvas; impossible not to notice. You were sure you’d never see her again, but here she is - living, breathing, and so very beautiful.

You’re on your honeymoon, postponed 6 months from the actual wedding, and Ron is dragging you through the gallery in search for a bathroom. He releases your hand when he sees the sign and tells you he’ll be right back.

You’re glad. Because you can’t do anything right now except stare until she notices you. She’s here and gorgeous and standing right in front of you in a moment.

She seems taller than before. Stiffer than before. Guarded and hardened from the war and the slow unravelling of everything that followed. But her eyes still hold some affection for you and when she smiles, it fills you with a most relieved warmth.

You dredge up your barely-there French and speak in her native tongue, because you want to show her kindness and think this is a good place to start. You get out a simple _hello, how are you, it seems we’ve found each other_ … but it’s not nearly enough. You can’t possibly say all the things you want to say. All the thanks you never got to give from goodbyes that were never had - they stick to your throat in thick, unyielding lumps.

All you think about is how time has moved so very slowly.

You have a scar on your right forearm and everything about it reminds you of Fleur. It burns now like there’s still magic laced into those lines, sensing the presence of the one who tamed it.

You’re caught up in a whirlwind of thoughts and squeezing nostalgia, and somehow massive relief that Fleur is here and Fleur is okay, and she’s every bit as beautiful as the memories that you still keep on pedestals.

She kisses each of your cheeks and holds you there. The moment feels intimate. Eternal.

You open your mouth to say something - anything to express a fraction of what you’re feeling - but Ron comes back to join you. His surprise is extreme and noisy, bursting the bubble of serenity that seemed to exist only in a moment. He’s excited to see Fleur. His arm snakes around your waist as he proclaims that this is just the strangest thing. He asks if she likes the paintings in the gallery.

Fleur tells him that they’re hers. This is her exhibit.

You look around at the paintings, all sad and beautiful and filled with chaos. There are bold strokes and sharp, contrasting edges, and you wonder how they didn’t remind you of Fleur to begin with.

She is the perfect host. You walk the gallery in awe as she shows you both around. You exchange surface niceties and are frequently interrupted by her agent, who whispers about sales and points out inquiring customers. He gives you and Ron a glare that says you’re monopolizing her valuable time. He looks at your attire - lingers on Ron’s - before deciding that you aren’t potential customers to these dizzyingly expensive pieces and so he likes you even less.

After a while of this, Ron begins to look restless so you decide to continue with your day. You had just walked into the exhibit on a whim, seeing the beautiful canvas displayed in the gallery window.

Fleur tells you that you should visit her studio. She takes hold of your wrists as she says it, brushing her thumb over your pulse point. With great surprise, it fills you with longing. You haven’t wanted her for years.

Even then, you were just a girl - young and naive as anything. It had faded with time.

But you suppose that not all things leave entirely.

She smiles at you and waits patiently for your reply, so you tell her that you’ll see if you can fit it into your trip. It’s a thinly veiled _no_ that you suspect she understands. Your schedule for the honeymoon is packed and this has been … strangely not enough for you. Maybe it’s been too long. You’re confused about what you want from this woman - this important woman who disappeared from your life so fast after Bill’s death. She had wanted a fresh start and then made one without you.

You suppose you should be happy for her. You are. She owes you nothing, least of all resolution for your conflicted soul. She deserves peace, not the assault of ghosts and echoes from a past long-buried.

You’ll give her that, at least.

So with Ron’s hand at the small of your back, you smile and say a final goodbye. You commit this to memory - her eyes on yours, her fingers slipping from your wrists, her soft expression that looks curiously like hope, curiously like sadness.

She reaches into her back pocket and produces a business card, which she presses into your palm.

“In case you change your mind,” Fleur says, giving you a heated look that you feel should be reserved for privacy. It makes your ears burn at the very thought. You’re sure that wasn’t Fleur’s intention.

As you leave the store and step onto cobbled streets, you push away the prickling thought that somehow, in some way, this feels like a sacrifice.

Ron takes your hand and starts down the Montmartre hill, while your other hangs on loosely to Fleur’s card.

Your head stays in that gallery long after you leave. You can’t shake the thought of Fleur. You think she wants you to change your mind.

Maybe you will. Maybe not today and maybe not on this trip - but some day, you could go back to her. Make peace with whatever this is, that has spanned throughout the years. Whatever it was that has always drawn you two together. You think you might like that.


End file.
